Chapter 12

12

The Honorable Miss Annelise Kempton was not the kind of woman to pine over things that she could never have. At least, not for long. By the time she reached her room she had composed herself, and she only felt a slight need to slam the door behind her.

She went to her drawer and picked up the soft velvet bag that held the Kempton pearls. It, too, had been made by an ancestor—some ancient kinswoman, doubtless with higher morals than the one who’d bedded King James—and was stitched virtuously, a design of intricate beauty. The velvet was slightly rubbed in places, and she opened the drawstring, letting the pearls fall into her hand.

They were as beautiful as ever. Lustrous, warm. And fake. He was right, of course. A scoundrel would be certain to know when jewelry was fake—it would be part of his stock-in-trade. When had her father switched them?

She couldn’t really tell—he’d kept them for her, and she’d worn them once a year on her birthday. She’d never noticed any change, but then, her lack of vanity would have ensured that she didn’t spend a great deal of time staring in mirrors.

Or perhaps it was an excess of vanity. She had never looked as she wanted—not a plump beauty like her younger sister, not a striking one like her elder, and not an adorable little cherub like Hetty Chipple. She was tall and plain and bespectacled, but she’d loved her pearls.

It must have happened when she was nineteen, she thought. Things had been growing more desperate. They were down to two servants, one of them in the stable to care for her father’s beloved horses, and she’d begun to suspect the horses hadn’t been eating well. Their coats and eyes were dull, they moved sluggishly, she couldn’t even coax her beloved Gertie into a full gallop.

And then one day there had been three new servants, two of them in the stable. The horses began to look better, properly cared for, properly fed. The

same wasn’t true for Annelise and her father—their table was meager to the point of Lenten. And her father become less and less responsive.

But that sudden influx of money had to come from somewhere, and James Kempton would sit by and watch his house fall into ruin and his daughter starve into spinsterhood, but he’d rob his own mother to feed his horses. Or rob his own child.

It should have felt like the worst kind of betrayal. But it wasn’t. She’d known what he was, quite clearly, known that he’d loved her despite his failings. Almost as much as he’d loved his own misery. The worst betrayal was that he had died.

She put the pearls back in their bag carefully, pulling the drawstring tight, and replaced them in her drawer. Next to Christian’s scrawled note, promising her a third lesson in the art of love.

She wasn’t going to burn it after all. He was leaving—it was doubtful she’d ever have to suffer his company again. She should get down on her knees and offer up a prayer of thanksgiving. Instead she tucked the note inside the velvet bag, along with his lacy handkerchief. She dashed the tears away from her eyes, the stupid things, tidied her already severe hair, and headed back downstairs, the very picture of calm self-possession. If she was going to ache inside, at least no one was going to know it.

Still no signs of the sluggard Chipples. The sun was out in full now, and the fallen rain sparkled like diamonds on the trees and the cobblestones. Of course, Jameson was nowhere to be seen when she really wanted him, but she hunted him down in the dining room.

He was as impassive as ever—perhaps she’d imagined that faint note of cunning in his flat eyes. “I’m going for a walk in the park, Jameson, if anyone asks where I am.”

“I don’t expect the Chipples to rise for quite some time, miss. The last guest didn’t depart until three in the morning.” There was nothing in his tone or expression to cause offense. And yet he made her uneasy.

“I should be back in an hour.”

“Do you wish to have a maid accompany you? Or do you have business of a private nature to conduct?”

She wanted to slap the smirk off his face, but he was so big and ugly she was afraid he might hit her back, and one tap from those giant paws would send her flying across the room. He really was the strangest-looking butler, and so she ought to explain to Mr. Chipple, except that after her discovery

earlier this morning she didn’t particularly feel like discussing anything with her host.

“No business, and no need of a maid. I just want some time alone to clear my head.”

“And your time in the garden wasn’t private enough for you, miss?”

He’d known that Montcalm had been there. Known, and done nothing, except perhaps spy on them. He would have seen Montcalm kiss her, for the last time. At least it had clearly been a chaste kiss of goodbye. Well, not entirely chaste—she doubted that word could ever be applied to Christian Montcalm. But it had been brief, and decisive.

She wasn’t about to dignify Jameson’s question with an answer. How she conducted her life was none of his business. Who ventured on Chipple’s property was, but he had chosen to do nothing about it.

“I should be back in an hour,” she said. “Or two, if I feel like it.”

“Yes, miss.” He was immediately all propriety, but his insulting demeanor stayed with her as she walked the short distance to the park.

There was definitely something very odd about the Chipple household, though Josiah Chipple did his best to hide it. His butler looked like a retired pugilist and had the manners, as well, the man kept a pistol in his library and there were times when she caught a certain expression on his face that was a far cry from the jovial shipping magnate.

But for the next hour she wasn’t going to think about that. Wasn’t going to think about Christian Montcalm, or her father, or any of the other men in her life who had clearly just been sent to plague her. She was going to enjoy the sunshine, the smell of the damp earth, and think about nothing at all but how nice it would be to be in the countryside, in a garden, with all of London so far away it might as well not exist. She would plant roses, she thought. And hollyhocks. And snapdragons…

“Miss Kempton.”

Bloody hell, she thought as William Dickinson hailed her. Maybe she could pretend she hadn’t heard him, maybe she could walk fast enough that she’d outpace him. She had long legs, and could cover ground quite rapidly, but she could hear him gaining on her, and the note of desperation in his voice. Unless she decided to break into a sprint, he was going to catch up with her, and trying to get away was an undignified waste of time. She halted, plastered a polite expression on her face and turned to face him.

The sight of William was a shock indeed. “Mr. Dickinson, are you all right? You look as if you’ve been set upon by Mohocks.” The roving bands of street criminals had become bolder and bolder, and there seemed to be little anyone could do. First Montcalm, and then William Dickinson…

“A minor dustup, Miss Kempton. I’m fine,” he said, clearly lying. He had a split lip, an eye that was blackened and swollen, and his clothes, though he’d made an attempt at righting them, had clearly seen something a bit more than a scuffle. “I have to return to Kent, and I wondered if I could prevail upon you to do me a huge favor.”

“You’re going back so soon? I thought you were planning to stay in London at least another week?”

“It’s a…family issue,” he stammered, clearly not a very good liar. “I wondered if you might take a note to Miss Chipple for me.”

“Mr. Dickinson, you know I can’t do that. I would never have let you see her last night but I was overset. It would be most improper, and her father has yet to approve your suit, but Mr. Montcalm has been persuaded to withdraw his offer, but in time—”

“He’s not going to change his mind,” William said bitterly. “Hetty and I were going to meet and approach him together, but I’ve…I’ve changed my mind. She’s much too far above me to even hope. I should never have come to London, never have dared to approach her…”

“William, she loves you,” Annelise broke in patiently. Lovelorn histrionics were tiresome, but at least they put her own silly longings in the right context. “You may have argued, and Mr. Chipple may have seemed obdurate, but I’m sure with time and diligence he can be persuaded to change his mind. Fortunately, Mr. Montcalm has chosen to relinquish any claim he might have to her affections and the way is clear for you. Your only drawback is that you lack a title, but I would think that Mr. Chipple would, in the end, prove reasonable if it’s his daughter’s happiness at stake.”

“Mr. Chipple…” he began, and then stopped himself. “Mr. Chipple has made it very clear that I am foolish to hope.”

“And you would accept defeat so easily? I would have thought better of you.”

“I’d fight to the death for her,” he said fiercely.

“Then why are you leaving?”

“My family…” he said, his voice harsh. “I need to ensure my family’s well-being.”

It was such an outrageous notion that she could scarcely bring herself to say it. “Has Mr. Chipple threatened you?”

William laughed. “I’m not worried about myself, miss.”

“He’s threatened your family? You must realize that he’s full of bluster

—even a man with his less-than-stellar background would never dare to touch any members of an old family…”

“He’d touch them. He’d have them killed. And he could do it. He’s not the man you think he is, Miss Kempton. I’ve always suspected as much, and my parents have as little to do with him as they can, but when I told them I was in love they agreed to let me try. But he’s a bad man.”

“Surely you’re exaggerating,” Annelise said desperately. “He’s just a gentleman with too much money and not enough manners who dotes on his only child.”

“If Hetty ran away with me, it wouldn’t be only my family who would suffer. He would make Hetty pay, as well.”

“But I gather you come from a solid family. Surely you will have enough income to provide for her if Mr. Chipple decided to cut her off without a penny.”

“That’s not what he’d do.”

The words were ominous. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t like being thwarted. He has plans for Hetty, and if she ruins those plans he’ll see her destroyed. He wouldn’t hesitate at murder.” His voice broke.

Annelise felt cold inside. Surely this was all the wild imaginings of a lovesick young gentleman—it was far too bizarre to even countenance that there might be truth in it. But there was no doubt William believed it, and he was terrified. Not just for his family, but for his beloved.

Chipple had done an excellent job of convincing him that if he went near his daughter their lives were forfeit. It was ridiculous, of course. He probably thought Chipple was behind whoever had beaten him, as well.

Annelise wasn’t about to try to argue anymore—he was so firm in his belief that common sense wouldn’t reach him.

The fact was, people simply didn’t do things like that. At least, not people she knew. They didn’t threaten and beat people, and they most

certainly would never kill anyone. Particularly the one they loved most in the world.

Ridiculous. And so Dickinson would realize, once he got away from the city and recovered from his traumatic encounter with London street gangs.

In fact, it was lucky he was even alive at this moment.

“I won’t argue with you, Mr. Dickinson. Nor will I take a note to Miss Chipple. You may give me a verbal message and I will consider whether I’ll apprise her of it.”

He reached inside his rumpled coat, and for one wild moment she expected him to pull out a dueling pistol. When he withdrew a piece of paper she wanted to laugh. She was being as silly as he was, imagining conspiracies and danger where none existed.

Except that Chipple really did own a very ugly pistol.

“You may read it first, Miss Kempton. I labored for hours trying to say the right thing.”

She opened the folded vellum reluctantly. It read: My dear Miss Chipple,

I have belatedly realized the foolishness of our attachment, and accept the fact that wiser heads have prevailed. I am returning home to Kent, where I expect you shall soon want to wish me happiness in my forthcoming marriage to Miss Augusta Davies. I wish you all the joy and happiness you may find in your new life in London, and be assured that I will always remain your steadfast friend, William Dickinson.

Annelise lifted her gaze. “You’re engaged?”

“I will be. As soon as I return home. It’s the only thing I can do to protect her. Miss Davies has always shown a marked partiality toward me, and my parents approve the match. I’m certain we will deal very comfortably together.”

“And what about Hetty? I suppose she’ll just move on to the next handsome young man…”

“She’s not like that!” he said hotly. “I’m hoping—rather, I’m certain—

she’ll see reason once she stops to think about it. A girl shouldn’t go against her parents’ wishes, no matter how…no matter whether she agrees or not.

Her well-being depends on it.” There was such heartbreak in his voice and in his face, coupled by real fear. The notion that Chipple would harm his daughter was far-fetched, totally ridiculous, and yet he believed every word.

Which either meant that he was a lunatic and no fit match for Hetty, or that Annelise herself was in a very dangerous situation.

He must have read her mind. “And you can’t desert her, Miss Kempton.

It should be easy enough to find a suitable parti now that I’m gone and you’ve gotten rid of Montcalm. She needs someone to watch over her, make certain she’s safe.”

“From her own father?” Annelise scoffed.

“From her own father,” William said. “Please, Miss Kempton, I beg of you. Promise me you won’t abandon her.”

Which was exactly what she’d been thinking of doing. But in the end, even in the unlikely event that William was right about Mr. Chipple, the biggest danger to Annelise’s peace of mind had relinquished his plans.

Christian Montcalm was out of her—their—lives, and she could face a hundred murderous Josiah Chipples without flinching.

“I’ll give her your letter,” she said finally. “And I’ll stay with her until she’s safely, happily married to a gentleman of good character.”

“One who can stand up to Chipple.”

“Any more stipulations?” Annelise asked in a light tone.

William was not amused. “I’m leaving in the morning, but it would be better if Hetty believes I’m already gone. Our attachment has been long-standing but they say that first love mends easily enough.”

But not true love, Annelise thought. At times she wasn’t even sure if she believed in such a thing, but if it did exist, it was in William’s shadowed eyes and Hetty’s exuberant heart.

“I’ll keep her safe.”

“Bless you,” William said. And he kissed her on the cheek.

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